


Rodeo

by bent_over_moonbeams



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: M/M, Post-Brokeback Mountain, motel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bent_over_moonbeams/pseuds/bent_over_moonbeams
Summary: It's like riding a bull and Jack knows it can't go on, but he only has to hold on for eight seconds.





	Rodeo

Jack goes into the motel and pays for the room alone. The clerk don’t ask if he wants a king’r two queens. Don’t even ask for ID, just sticks a hand out for the cash and grabs a key with a chipped plastic fob from it’s peg. 

They don’t touch walkin’ from the truck to room nine. They couldn’t touch and make it there.

Jack unlocks the door and pushes it open for Ennis to walk in. It ain’t like holding the door for a lady, he just likes the feeling of walking in behind. Ennis’ shoulder brushes Jack’s chest and the loose door handle clicks loudly as it slips right outa Jack’s hand.

Ennis sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, lookin’ around the room—one lopsided king—like he needs somethin’ to do, not like he sees a goddamn thing.

Jack’s heart’s slowed down and he feels nervous now like the moments before the gate opens and a bull whips ya around for eight seconds. 

Jack ain’t really close enough to feel the matted down of Ennis’ jacket or the heat of his body through it, but he’s close enough he can almost believe he feels more than he does. He fumbles behind him without lookin’. He misses the doorknob, hand wavin’ in the empty air for long seconds before he manages to swing it closed.

The slam don’t make Ennis twitch, but he looks back when the room goes as quiet as no-tell motels ever get. He looks at Jack over his shoulder. Just a glance, like he’s not sure he wants Jack to notice him lookin’. Jack sees that three-quarter view of Ennis’ face more often than his eyes. 

A shuffle of a step lines them up and Jack can feel him now. Can feel the gaps in Ennis’ worn out jacket filling and the warm curve of him under fabric as rough as their hands. Ennis lurches, pulling away like he always does as if he needs to, but Jack grabs him across his chest and at the crook of his neck like he always does because it needs to be done.

They grapple, Jack’s face tucked into Ennis’ neck open mouthed in as close to kisses as he’s allowed against skin and shirt collar and shoulder and mouth when he catches them.

Jack’s jeans pinch his cock where it’s smashed against Ennis’ belt. He hasn’t felt so aware, alive like this, since the last time they were touching as hard as they hurt each other. When the pain of the chafing threatens to take Jack out at the knees, he drags Ennis around, tightening the grip in Ennis’ shirt to keep them upright as they stumble against the bed.

Jack shoves Ennis and for once in his stubborn life Ennis just goes. He falls back on the bed, yanking at Jack’s belt buckle and dragging Jack into a half-crouch with knees spread around the corner of the mattress. Jack rips of his jacket, his shirts. He has Ennis’ shirt sleeves inside out and his jacket balled up held down by body weight by the time Ennis gets his buckle undone.

Jack digs in his jeans pocket for the lube he got at the seedy corner store halfway from Texas just in case before he shimmies out of them and gets Ennis outta his clothes too.

He’s never got to look at Ennis like this and even though he can’t really let Ennis see him lookin’, Jack drinks in the sight of him naked in a bed instead of crouched in cold water. Jack smears some lube on his fingers, jams them into himself. He could take it if he needed to, but he doesn’t need it to hurt so bad tonight.

It’s a trick putting Ennis into himself, but it’s so intimate it takes Jack’s breath as surely as the prick in his guts. It’s like the gate’s opened and he’s finally ridin’ that bull. 

Jack grabs at Ennis’ chest and his hair, kisses like it don’t matter if they breathe, and rides the uneven, violent thrusts of their hips against each other. Ennis’ pelvis bruises Jack’s legs and Jack’s nails draw blood on Ennis’ chest.

It’s fuckin’ perfect, everything Jack can’t let himself want when he’s at home with his wife and kid and respectable job.

They’re breathin’ heavy, shakin’ with strain, smackin’ their foreheads together by accident when they can’t hold themselves back. It’s too much and Jack knows in his bones it can’t go on, but he’s just gotta hold on for eight seconds.


End file.
